u/Quoththeraisen

Status: Open

The observation deck was mercifully quiet. Typical of Sophonity decor, the interior panelling was the sort of spotless, clinical white found in a research laboratory, the synthetic furniture a bland committee-approved beige of varying sizes designed to accommodate a multiplicity of lifeforms at the expense of any aesthetic. Devoid of charm as the deck and indeed the entire station may have been however, its deep space imaging systems were second to none.

It was for that reason that Hayl St Axion of the Vodyani stood at the vast display, watching the unfolding battle in the void beyond.

Ramming trajectories. Lifepod interceptions. Waves of fighter squadrons attempting to penetrate the swarms of defensive drones hovering around the larger, slow-moving cruisers. Hayl’s attention settled on a single starfighter separate from the rest, pirouetting through a swarm before banking into another, slicing through each time. He momentarily admired the pilot’s seemingly suicidal abandon, then returned to the wider display. Both sides had depleted their reserves, and whatever stratagems had been drawn up beforehand were disintegrating into a vicious, ill-disciplined fray upon sustained contact with the enemy.

Hayl’s grip around his spear, never far from his grasp, tightened in preparation, thumbing the safety lock. With his robes and cloak around his person, one unfamiliar with the Vodyani might have mistaken him for any other spacefaring biped, perhaps even belonging to the Human race. Only if he turned would they see the transparent visor of his helm, containing the faceless mass of aureate energy that constituted his essence. Such was the reward of the faithful, to be shrived clean of their sinful matter and to be reborn virtual, clothed anew in the great and holy vestments once worn by their gods.

It was only recently that he had begun to remember his life before his conversion. Before the Academy. Before purity and purpose quashed want.

He could already see which side was resting victory from the other, even if neither knew it yet. If the enemy, a coalition of rogue factions combining opportunist pirates, insurrectionists, imperial anarchists and more succeeded in rebuffing the attack, their next course would be to board the space station. It was too crucial a supply line not to seize, and it would be his duty to purge any would-be interlopers.

If the side the Church of the Virtual Saints nominally declared her ally won, then he would join the assembled military forces on the station for the landing assault on the nearby planet to uproot the coalition stronghold. Uproot being the politically expedient term for what Hayl would rather call eradication.

Both prospects had their appeals.

The door to the observation deck chimed open, the blare of alarms and the movements of troops rushing to their posts intruding upon his precious quiet. Footsteps followed. Hayl knew, of course, that there were only a handful of individuals on board the station who would dare intrude, and only one who, judging by the direct and steady tread of boots towards his position, would actively seek him out.

This final thought and the inevitable conclusions one might draw from it had become increasingly difficult to ignore, no matter how many catechisms he murmured at prayer or prolonged meditation session he endured in his isolation chamber.

“They’re losing,” the Distraction observed behind him, having taken one glance at the display and, like him, had discerned order from the unfolding chaos.

She — and it was unmistakably a she — drew beside him at a distance just outside the bounds of familiarity. The sensors of his suit, his Cloth, interpreted the infractions of light rays and atomic vibrations across dense matter into an electrical impulse that approximated sight and sound to his disembodied mind. He could have studied the daredevil pilot’s manoeuvres from the reflection of the display in her eyes if he so wished. Indeed, there were a great many things about her which invited his study.

“As you predicted,” he replied, knowing what was to come next.

The Distraction leant against the railing, lithe and coiled like a predator might lie in watch. Hayl turned his head away from the display, shifting. He’d seen that look before, and found himself relishing it.

“We had a wager, Spear-Saint.”

“I recall.” He shifted subtly again. At such a distance both their weapons would be impractical. His Cloth preemptively engaged its plating protocols, hardening from a firm yet organic softness to a rigid, smooth black carapace, clusters of translucent fibres revealing golden energy moulded in the form of a bicep or a groove of a hip peeking from a slant in his robe, cast in alloyed perfection.

“Good.” They stayed motionless, wondering which would be the first to break and lunge. It had been an age since Hayl had had to defend himself with bare hands alone.

Some sorry grunt assigned to find them took one half-step into the room and promptly swivelled back around. Yet the blaring alarms growing in intensity reminded them of their pressing duties, and with some consideration, Hayl reluctantly relaxed.

Some span of seconds later, the Distraction grunted, pushing herself away from the railing without a word and turning away from the Vodyani.

“Later,” he said. There was a mystifying ache, a dissonance, that quickly blossomed and withered on the digital vine of his suit’s diagnostic readout.

He watched the Distraction’s retreating figure. Later could not come soon enough.

\\\_\\\_\\\_

A summary of the scenario: nominally set in the Endless Space universe, a high-ranking agent of the Vodyani, a disembodied race of zealots inhabiting suits of a long-dead civilisation they worship as gods, finds himself becoming increasingly distracted by the company of a peer. Thanks to the wonders of Endless technology, this fascination takes on a decidedly intimate turn.

Hello there! I’m looking for someone to write as said Distraction. While it would be appreciated no knowledge is required of the setting per se, and I’m open to adjusting the setting entirely. Likewise, I’m open to anything from a human to a Hissho (think samurai-inspired avians) so long as the Distraction is a woman.

I do envisage our characters being a similar rank, but that’s about the only other fixed idea I have in mind. The above scene is a starting point but does not necessarily have to be the only one. Do they despise each other but, after being bound together on missions and despite their competing loyalties, find themselves undeniably fascinated by the other? Two ruthless commanders or warriors who have finally found a likeminded companion on a long campaign, even if just for a time?

If you’re familiar with the setting then you’ll be aware that I’ve only alluded to the Vodyani’s fanaticism and the Academy itself; there’s a great deal worth exploring there. The key focus here is the dynamic between two complex, mature characters who are more used to acting (or directing others to act) as living weapons than creatures with their own wants, and I’d be keen to fashion something tailored to our preferences. As an aside, I am theoretically open to reversing the roles.

Alternatively, if my other prompts catch your eye or you have an idea which you think aligns with anything you’ve read here, then do share.

As with all of my prompts, I’m looking for a partner with a passion for writing who understands that real life comes first and values friendly communication. On a related note, I much prefer to use Discord, with BST as my timezone.

What would I like from you, you ask? Well, a description and background of your character, plus your thoughts on how the roleplay could go sent via Chat — even a brief continuation of the prompt would be lovely, thought that's not necessary. Please put some effort into the former, as it helps me see the quality of your writing; I’d much prefer a well-written response hours after posting than just a quick line or two.

And that is all! If you’ve got to this stage, I’m hoping that something has piqued your interest. You’re very welcome to ask me any questions you might have in the meantime. I’m looking forward to hearing your responses! Take care now.

Status: Open

The observation deck was mercifully quiet. Typical of Sophonity decor, the interior panelling was the sort of spotless, clinical white found in a research laboratory, the synthetic furniture a bland committee-approved beige of varying sizes designed to accommodate a multiplicity of lifeforms at the expense of any aesthetic. Devoid of charm as the deck and indeed the entire station may have been however, its deep space imaging systems were second to none.

It was for that reason that Hayl St Axion of the Vodyani stood at the vast display, watching the unfolding battle in the void beyond.

Ramming trajectories. Lifepod interceptions. Waves of fighter squadrons attempting to penetrate the swarms of defensive drones hovering around the larger, slow-moving cruisers. Hayl’s attention settled on a single starfighter separate from the rest, pirouetting through a swarm before banking into another, slicing through each time. He momentarily admired the pilot’s seemingly suicidal abandon, then returned to the wider display. Both sides had depleted their reserves, and whatever stratagems had been drawn up beforehand were disintegrating into a vicious, ill-disciplined fray upon sustained contact with the enemy.

Hayl’s grip around his spear, never far from his grasp, tightened in preparation, thumbing the safety lock. With his robes and cloak around his person, one unfamiliar with the Vodyani might have mistaken him for any other spacefaring biped, perhaps even belonging to the Human race. Only if he turned would they see the transparent visor of his helm, containing the faceless mass of aureate energy that constituted his essence. Such was the reward of the faithful, to be shrived clean of their sinful matter and to be reborn virtual, clothed anew in the great and holy vestments once worn by their gods.

It was only recently that he had begun to remember his life before his conversion. Before the Academy. Before purity and purpose quashed want.

He could already see which side was resting victory from the other, even if neither knew it yet. If the enemy, a coalition of rogue factions combining opportunist pirates, insurrectionists, imperial anarchists and more succeeded in rebuffing the attack, their next course would be to board the space station. It was too crucial a supply line not to seize, and it would be his duty to purge any would-be interlopers.

If the side the Church of the Virtual Saints nominally declared her ally won, then he would join the assembled military forces on the station for the landing assault on the nearby planet to uproot the coalition stronghold. Uproot being the politically expedient term for what Hayl would rather call eradication.

Both prospects had their appeals.

The door to the observation deck chimed open, the blare of alarms and the movements of troops rushing to their posts intruding upon his precious quiet. Footsteps followed. Hayl knew, of course, that there were only a handful of individuals on board the station who would dare intrude, and only one who, judging by the direct and steady tread of boots towards his position, would actively seek him out.

This final thought and the inevitable conclusions one might draw from it had become increasingly difficult to ignore, no matter how many catechisms he murmured at prayer or prolonged meditation session he endured in his isolation chamber.

“They’re losing,” the Distraction observed behind him, having taken one glance at the display and, like him, had discerned order from the unfolding chaos.

She — and it was unmistakably a she — drew beside him at a distance just outside the bounds of familiarity. The sensors of his suit, his Cloth, interpreted the infractions of light rays and atomic vibrations across dense matter into an electrical impulse that approximated sight and sound to his disembodied mind. He could have studied the daredevil pilot’s manoeuvres from the reflection of the display in her eyes if he so wished. Indeed, there were a great many things about her which invited his study.

“As you predicted,” he replied, knowing what was to come next.

The Distraction leant against the railing, lithe and coiled like a predator might lie in watch. Hayl turned his head away from the display, shifting. He’d seen that look before, and found himself relishing it.

“We had a wager, Spear-Saint.”

“I recall.” He shifted subtly again. At such a distance both their weapons would be impractical. His Cloth preemptively engaged its plating protocols, hardening from a firm yet organic softness to a rigid, smooth black carapace, clusters of translucent fibres revealing golden energy moulded in the form of a bicep or a groove of a hip peeking from a slant in his robe, cast in alloyed perfection.

“Good.” They stayed motionless, wondering which would be the first to break and lunge. It had been an age since Hayl had had to defend himself with bare hands alone.

Some sorry grunt assigned to find them took one half-step into the room and promptly swivelled back around. Yet the blaring alarms growing in intensity reminded them of their pressing duties, and with some consideration, Hayl reluctantly relaxed.

Some span of seconds later, the Distraction grunted, pushing herself away from the railing without a word and turning away from the Vodyani.

“Later,” he said. There was a mystifying ache, a dissonance, that quickly blossomed and withered on the digital vine of his suit’s diagnostic readout.

He watched the Distraction’s retreating figure. Later could not come soon enough.

\_\_\_

A summary of the scenario: Nominally set in the Endless Space universe, a high-ranking agent of the Vodyani, a disembodied race of zealots inhabiting suits of a long-dead civilisation they worship as gods, finds himself becoming increasingly distracted by the company of a peer. Thanks to the wonders of Endless technology, this fascination takes on a decidedly intimate turn.

Hello there! I’m looking for someone to write as said Distraction. While it would be appreciated no knowledge is required of the setting per se, and I’m open to adjusting the setting entirely. Likewise, I’m open to anything from a human to a Hissho (think samurai-inspired avians) so long as the Distraction is a woman.

I do envisage our characters being a similar rank, but that’s about the only other fixed idea I have in mind. The above scene is a starting point but does not necessarily have to be the only one. Do they despise each other but, after being bound together on missions and despite their competing loyalties, find themselves undeniably fascinated by the other? Two ruthless commanders or warriors who have finally found a likeminded companion on a long campaign, even if just for a time?

If you’re familiar with the setting then you’ll be aware that I’ve only alluded to the Vodyani’s fanaticism and the Academy itself; there’s a great deal worth exploring there. The key focus here is the dynamic between two complex, mature characters who are more used to acting (or directing others to act) as living weapons than creatures with their own wants, and I’d be keen to fashion something tailored to our preferences. As an aside, I am theoretically open to reversing the roles.

Alternatively, if my other prompts catch your eye or you have an idea which you think aligns with anything you’ve read here, then do share.

As with all of my prompts, I’m looking for a partner with a passion for writing who understands that real life comes first and values friendly communication. On a related note, I much prefer to use Discord, with BST as my timezone.

What would I like from you, you ask? Well, a description and background of your character, plus your thoughts on how the roleplay could go sent via Chat — even a brief continuation of the prompt would be lovely, thought that's not necessary. Please put some effort into the former, as it helps me see the quality of your writing; I’d much prefer a well-written response hours after posting than just a quick line or two.

And that is all! If you’ve got to this stage, I’m hoping that something has piqued your interest. You’re very welcome to ask me any questions you might have in the meantime. I’m looking forward to hearing your responses! Take care now.

Status: Open

The observation deck was mercifully quiet. Typical of Sophonity decor, the interior panelling was the sort of spotless, clinical white found in a research laboratory, the synthetic furniture a bland committee-approved beige of varying sizes designed to accommodate a multiplicity of lifeforms at the expense of any aesthetic. Devoid of charm as the deck and indeed the entire station may have been however, its deep space imaging systems were second to none.

It was for that reason that Hayl St Axion of the Vodyani stood at the vast display, watching the unfolding battle in the void beyond.

Ramming trajectories. Lifepod interceptions. Waves of fighter squadrons attempting to penetrate the swarms of defensive drones hovering around the larger, slow-moving cruisers. Hayl’s attention settled on a single starfighter separate from the rest, pirouetting through a swarm before banking into another, slicing through each time. He momentarily admired the pilot’s seemingly suicidal abandon, then returned to the wider display. Both sides had depleted their reserves, and whatever stratagems had been drawn up beforehand were disintegrating into a vicious, ill-disciplined fray upon sustained contact with the enemy.

Hayl’s grip around his spear, never far from his grasp, tightened in preparation, thumbing the safety lock. With his robes and cloak around his person, one unfamiliar with the Vodyani might have mistaken him for any other spacefaring biped, perhaps even belonging to the Human race. Only if he turned would they see the transparent visor of his helm, containing the faceless mass of aureate energy that constituted his essence. Such was the reward of the faithful, to be shrived clean of their sinful matter and to be reborn virtual, clothed anew in the great and holy vestments once worn by their gods.

It was only recently that he had begun to remember his life before his conversion. Before the Academy. Before purity and purpose quashed want.

He could already see which side was resting victory from the other, even if neither knew it yet. If the enemy, a coalition of rogue factions combining opportunist pirates, insurrectionists, imperial anarchists and more succeeded in rebuffing the attack, their next course would be to board the space station. It was too crucial a supply line not to seize, and it would be his duty to purge any would-be interlopers.

If the side the Church of the Virtual Saints nominally declared her ally won, then he would join the assembled military forces on the station for the landing assault on the nearby planet to uproot the coalition stronghold. Uproot being the politically expedient term for what Hayl would rather call eradication.

Both prospects had their appeals.

The door to the observation deck chimed open, the blare of alarms and the movements of troops rushing to their posts intruding upon his precious quiet. Footsteps followed. Hayl knew, of course, that there were only a handful of individuals on board the station who would dare intrude, and only one who, judging by the direct and steady tread of boots towards his position, would actively seek him out.

This final thought and the inevitable conclusions one might draw from it had become increasingly difficult to ignore, no matter how many catechisms he murmured at prayer or prolonged meditation session he endured in his isolation chamber.

“They’re losing,” the Distraction observed behind him, having taken one glance at the display and, like him, had discerned order from the unfolding chaos.

She — and it was unmistakably a she — drew beside him at a distance just outside the bounds of familiarity. The sensors of his suit, his Cloth, interpreted the infractions of light rays and atomic vibrations across dense matter into an electrical impulse that approximated sight and sound to his disembodied mind. He could have studied the daredevil pilot’s manoeuvres from the reflection of the display in her eyes if he so wished. Indeed, there were a great many things about her which invited his study.

“As you predicted,” he replied, knowing what was to come next.

The Distraction leant against the railing, lithe and coiled like a predator might lie in watch. Hayl turned his head away from the display, shifting. He’d seen that look before, and found himself relishing it.

“We had a wager, Spear-Saint.”

“I recall.” He shifted subtly again. At such a distance both their weapons would be impractical. His Cloth preemptively engaged its plating protocols, hardening from a firm yet organic softness to a rigid, smooth black carapace, clusters of translucent fibres revealing golden energy moulded in the form of a bicep or a groove of a hip peeking from a slant in his robe, cast in alloyed perfection.

“Good.” They stayed motionless, wondering which would be the first to break and lunge. It had been an age since Hayl had had to defend himself with bare hands alone.

Some sorry grunt assigned to find them took one half-step into the room and promptly swivelled back around. Yet the blaring alarms growing in intensity reminded them of their pressing duties, and with some consideration, Hayl reluctantly relaxed.

Some span of seconds later, the Distraction grunted, pushing herself away from the railing without a word and turning away from the Vodyani.

“Later,” he said. There was a mystifying ache, a dissonance, that quickly blossomed and withered on the digital vine of his suit’s diagnostic readout.

He watched the Distraction’s retreating figure. Later could not come soon enough.

___

A summary of the scenario: Set in the Endless Space universe, a high-ranking agent of the Vodyani, a disembodied race of zealots inhabiting suits of a long-dead civilisation they worship as gods, finds himself becoming increasingly distracted by the company of a peer. Thanks to the wonders of Endless technology, this fascination takes on a decidedly intimate turn.

Hello there! I’m looking for someone to write as said Distraction. While it would be appreciated no knowledge is required of the setting per se, and I’m open to adjusting the setting entirely. Likewise, I’m open to anything from a human to a Hissho (think samurai-inspired avians) so long as the Distraction is a woman.

I do envisage our characters being a similar rank, but that’s about the only other fixed idea I have in mind. The above scene is a starting point but does not necessarily have to be the only one. Do they despise each other but, after being bound together on missions and despite their competing loyalties, find themselves undeniably fascinated by the other? Two ruthless commanders or warriors who have finally found a likeminded companion on a long campaign, even if just for a time?

If you’re familiar with the setting then you’ll be aware that I’ve only alluded to the Vodyani’s fanaticism and the Academy itself; there’s a great deal worth exploring there. The key focus here is the dynamic between two complex, mature characters who are more used to acting (or directing others to act) as living weapons than creatures with their own wants, and I’d be keen to fashion something tailored to our preferences. As an aside, I am theoretically open to reversing the roles.

Alternatively, if my other prompts catch your eye or you have an idea which you think aligns with anything you’ve read here, then do share.

As with all of my prompts, I’m looking for a partner with a passion for writing who understands that real life comes first and values friendly communication. On a related note, I much prefer to use Discord, with BST as my timezone.

What would I like from you, you ask? Well, a description and background of your character, plus your thoughts on how the roleplay could go sent via Chat — even a brief continuation of the prompt would be lovely, thought that's not necessary. Please put some effort into the former, as it helps me see the quality of your writing; I’d much prefer a well-written response hours after posting than just a quick line or two.

And that is all! If you’ve got to this stage, I’m hoping that something has piqued your interest. You’re very welcome to ask me any questions you might have in the meantime. I’m looking forward to hearing your responses! Take care now.

I am 18+ and all participants and characters must be 18+

Status: Open

He was growing impatient. He could feel it: the scraping of claws at the base of his skull, accompanied by the tightening of phantom sinews beneath the muscle of his shoulders which, if the past year was any guide, was the opening advance of a terrible headache. Or slaughter, if the headache had its way.

Refraining from bringing a hand to his temple, reminding himself that he had been welcomed with worthy hospitality for an uninvited mage with nothing but a nobleman’s seal to his name, he willed the discomfort away. In lieu of irritation, a guileless expression was adopted; the velvet-backed chair creaked as he rested an elbow on the armrest, a picture of genteel and handsome repose.

“Forgive me my boldness, your Grace,” he began delicately, “but there must be a mistake. An error on the librarian’s part or the maester’s perhaps — I know well how the weary eye might miss its mark. But I was assured in the most certain of terms that the codices I’ve been searching for were to be found in your house archives, by your good cousin no less.”

The Duke, grizzled and greying with a stern countenance, did not begrudge the robed traveller who had come banging on his demesne’s gates on the eve of dusk. “I know what was said, Master Alcuin. And I regret that you journeyed for so many leagues on the advice of my cousin to whom you have done great service, only to receive ill news at this late hour. Well meaning as he was to vouchsafe his seal to you, he ought also to have informed you that the most precious and private items in the family archives are barred to all except a privileged, trusted few.”

Alcuin could now feel a plucking at the bone of his neck like a minstrel would strum his lyre — if an especially surly, vindictive minstrel which had it out for the long-suffering strings. What did not belong to any sort of minstrel, and heard only by Alcuin, was the rich purr of the spirit bound to his very being whose name was yet a mystery.

”I could rip the man’s throat out and be done with it; tear open the enchantments and cut down whoever comes to stop us from acquiring what we seek.”

Alcuin, nodding in grave consideration of the Duke’s words, replied, ”And what then when we have the codices? We’ll have the entire duchy along with his extended kin up in arms for our head. Playing thief in the night would be just as troublesome.”

The plucking sensation stopped. His disembodied companion was not entirely unreasonable.

“Come,” the Duke commanded, rising from his chair. “A friend of my cousin is forever welcome in these halls. We will see if your arrival may yet bear fruit. Tomorrow, there is a matter which has occupied my council for some time now. I would like to hear what insight a man of your learning and skills can offer. For now, your horse will be put in my own stable, and a chamber prepared. You must be in need of repast: I’ll send for food and drink.”

\_\_\_

The press of sweat-streaked flesh rutting on cold stone; the dance of a bloodied blade, the fierce delight of battle; an evening turned to debauchery; crimson-hued lips curved and beckoning for a kiss; rolls of parchment inscribed with runes waiting to be memorised; a priestess’ shawl draped aside, revealing a sigil.

In a sea of reverie induced by wine and torpor, Alcuin found it difficult to discern whose memories were whose. The last, at least, he knew to be his own. The priestess had belonged to a cult uncovered and subsequently left hidden, for the sigil had been recognised by the spirit as one of its own design. Whether divine, infernal or fey — Alcuin suspected the lattermost two — the spirit had grown to be a useful ally. Even if the yet-unnamed entity’s predilection for violence, pleasure and disdain for most mortal creatures had led Alcuin ‘astray’ at times.

“The negotiations were lively,” mused the spirit.

Alcuin, lying naked and supported by a luxuriant throng of pillows, lifted his gaze from the bottom of his wine cup. Twin slits of silver hovered by the cherry wood post at the corner of his bed, a shadow of a shadow. The ethereal, human-shaped outline became distinct. On this occasion it had chosen Alcuin’s form as its own: tall but not greatly so, lithely muscled for a scholar of the arcane, flaxen hair kept long as was fashionable for the royal court. The spirit ran a finger over his ghostly stubble.

”The duke has made you his honoured guest. A nicety. He’s not his feckless cousin whose daughter was so easily swayed to our advantage.”

Alcuin eyed the dregs of wine. Their fates had been bound together; a pact of last resort when a dying Alcuin, victim of a monstrous betrayal, had used what was left of his power to call out to anyone, anything, that might hear his plea. The spirit had answered. And so he was indebted, just as the spirit was indebted to him for offering an escape from whatever chains had once held it captive.

The spirit, still wearing his own face with its charming features, laid itself next to him, reclining on the side in an enticing ripple of pale, compact brawn. If there was one thing the spirit truly showed no patience for, it was being unanswered. It reached out, threatening but not quite proceeding to run a hand over Alcuin’s hewn thigh, tracing a path to the muscled groove of his hip.

”How will we win his trust?”

He drained his cup dry, eyes shutting in thought. The heat of freshly-spilled blood running down his chest; shadows reaching out, embracing him with a mother’s love. An unpleasant reminder of their first meeting. When he opened his eyes again, the spirit was gone.

He spoke as if to himself, silver in his eyes and the spirit’s unearthly voice sifting in a low melody with his own.

“The inner circle. One of them will be our key. Win their trust in however it must be done, and the Duke will follow.”

Perhaps their journey would bear fruit after all.

\_\_\_

Hey there! No established setting for this one - though I can certainly imagine one or two where this premise might fit - just a vaguely fantastical world, this time with possessed sorcerers and spirits of dubious intent.

I’m looking for a partner to write as one of the Duke’s advisors. Alcuin, mage of some renown and the spirit/demon/shade/etc sharing his body have decided that the best way to get into the Duke’s archives (for reasons yet to be revealed) is to get into one of his advisor’s pants - this is where you come in. Whether a scheming sorceress, a capable and trusted family relative, a noble warrior, elf, human or otherwise, I leave that entirely up to your imagination.

Similarly, I’ve left the exact nature of the entity possessing Alcuin a mystery. If that’s something you’re particularly interested in, I’d be more than happy to discuss a few potential ideas to tailor something to both our fancy.

While open to any number of dynamics, I want to emphasise that I’m not interested in the cliched ‘evil villain corrupts innocent virgin into mindless slave’. It’s just not my thing. Conversely, I do envisage Alcuin and the spirit, particularly the latter, leaning towards the darker end of the spectrum. Alcuin and co aren’t killing babies for the fun of it (so gauche), but they won’t be shedding tears if someone has to be killed to achieve their aims. Is your character a similarly cold-hearted individual who might find it agreeable to be bent over by a demonically-possessed mage? Or would Alcuin have to seduce a more honourable, pure of heart soul, having to resist his disembodied companion’s carnal urges at every moment?

A measure of worldbuilding would be required here, though nothing dramatically in-depth. Unless it can be sold to me, I’m only looking for a short(ish) term roleplay. With that being said, if this does strike a chord with you, then by all means feel free to pitch your thoughts on how a long term roleplay like this would go!

As with all of my prompts, I’m looking for a partner who’s willing to put in an equal amount of effort. I can’t guarantee a reply per day, but I do aim for consistency. On a related note, I much prefer to use Discord for this sort of thing, with BST as my timezone.

What would I like from you, you ask? Well, a description and background of your character, plus your thoughts on how the roleplay could go sent via Chat - even a brief continuation of the prompt would be lovely, thought that's not necessary. Please put some effort into the former, as it helps me see the quality of your writing; I’d much prefer a well-written response hours after posting than just a quick line or two.

And that is all! If you’ve got to this stage, I’m hoping that something has piqued your interest. You’re very welcome to ask me any questions you might have in the meantime. I’m looking forward to hearing your responses! Take care now.

Status: Open

He was growing impatient. He could feel it: the scraping of claws at the base of his skull, accompanied by the tightening of phantom sinews beneath the muscle of his shoulders which, if the past year was any guide, was the opening advance of a terrible headache. Or slaughter, if the headache had its way.

Refraining from bringing a hand to his temple, reminding himself that he had been welcomed with worthy hospitality for an uninvited mage with nothing but a nobleman’s seal to his name, he willed the discomfort away. In lieu of irritation, a guileless expression was adopted; the velvet-backed chair creaked as he rested an elbow on the armrest, a picture of genteel and handsome repose.

“Forgive me my boldness, your Grace,” he began delicately, “but there must be a mistake. An error on the librarian’s part or the maester’s perhaps — I know well how the weary eye might miss its mark. But I was assured in the most certain of terms that the codices I’ve been searching for were to be found in your house archives, by your good cousin no less.”

The Duke, grizzled and greying with a stern countenance, did not begrudge the robed traveller who had come banging on his demesne’s gates on the eve of dusk. “I know what was said, Master Alcuin. And I regret that you journeyed for so many leagues on the advice of my cousin to whom you have done great service, only to receive ill news at this late hour. Well meaning as he was to vouchsafe his seal to you, he ought also to have informed you that the most precious and private items in the family archives are barred to all except a privileged, trusted few.”

Alcuin could now feel a plucking at the bone of his neck like a minstrel would strum his lyre — if an especially surly, vindictive minstrel which had it out for the long-suffering strings. What did not belong to any sort of minstrel, and heard only by Alcuin, was the rich purr of the spirit bound to his very being whose name was yet a mystery.

”I could rip the man’s throat out and be done with it; tear open the enchantments and cut down whoever comes to stop us from acquiring what we seek.”

Alcuin, nodding in grave consideration of the Duke’s words, replied, ”And what then when we have the codices? We’ll have the entire duchy along with his extended kin up in arms for our head. Playing thief in the night would be just as troublesome.”

The plucking sensation stopped. His disembodied companion was not entirely unreasonable.

“Come,” the Duke commanded, rising from his chair. “A friend of my cousin is forever welcome in these halls. We will see if your arrival may yet bear fruit. Tomorrow, there is a matter which has occupied my council for some time now. I would like to hear what insight a man of your learning and skills can offer. For now, your horse will be put in my own stable, and a chamber prepared. You must be in need of repast: I’ll send for food and drink.”

\_\_\_

The press of sweat-streaked flesh rutting on cold stone; the dance of a bloodied blade, the fierce delight of battle; an evening turned to debauchery; crimson-hued lips curved and beckoning for a kiss; rolls of parchment inscribed with runes waiting to be memorised; a priestess’ shawl draped aside, revealing a sigil.

In a sea of reverie induced by wine and torpor, Alcuin found it difficult to discern whose memories were whose. The last, at least, he knew to be his own. The priestess had belonged to a cult uncovered and subsequently left hidden, for the sigil had been recognised by the spirit as one of its own design. Whether divine, infernal or fey — Alcuin suspected the lattermost two — the spirit had grown to be a useful ally. Even if the yet-unnamed entity’s predilection for violence, pleasure and disdain for most mortal creatures had led Alcuin ‘astray’ at times.

”The negotiations were lively,” mused the spirit.

Alcuin, lying naked and supported by a luxuriant throng of pillows, lifted his gaze from the bottom of his wine cup. Twin slits of silver hovered by the cherry wood post at the corner of his bed, a shadow of a shadow. The ethereal, human-shaped outline became distinct. On this occasion it had chosen Alcuin’s form as its own: tall but not greatly so, lithely muscled for a scholar of the arcane, flaxen hair kept long as was fashionable for the royal court. The spirit ran a finger over his ghostly stubble.

”The duke has made you his honoured guest. A nicety. He’s not his feckless cousin whose daughter was so easily swayed to our advantage.”

Alcuin eyed the dregs of wine. Their fates had been bound together; a pact of last resort when a dying Alcuin, victim of a monstrous betrayal, had used what was left of his power to call out to anyone, anything, that might hear his plea. The spirit had answered. And so he was indebted, just as the spirit was indebted to him for offering an escape from whatever chains had once held it captive.

The spirit, still wearing his own face with its charming features, laid itself next to him, reclining on the side in an enticing ripple of pale, compact brawn. If there was one thing the spirit truly showed no patience for, it was being unanswered. It reached out, threatening but not quite proceeding to run a hand over Alcuin’s hewn thigh, tracing a path to the muscled groove of his hip.

”How will we win his trust?”

He drained his cup dry, eyes shutting in thought. The heat of freshly-spilled blood running down his chest; shadows reaching out, embracing him with a mother’s love. An unpleasant reminder of their first meeting. When he opened his eyes again, the spirit was gone.

He spoke as if to himself, silver in his eyes and the spirit’s unearthly voice sifting in a low melody with his own.

“The inner circle. One of them will be our key. Win their trust in however it must be done, and the Duke will follow.”

Perhaps their journey would bear fruit after all.

\_\_\_

Hey there! No established setting for this one - though I can certainly imagine one or two where this premise might fit - just a vaguely fantastical world, this time with possessed sorcerers and spirits of dubious intent.

I’m looking for a partner to write as one of the Duke’s advisors. Alcuin, mage of some renown and the spirit/demon/shade/etc sharing his body have decided that the best way to get into the Duke’s archives (for reasons yet to be revealed) is to get into one of his advisor’s pants - this is where you come in. Whether a scheming sorceress, a capable and trusted family relative, a noble warrior, elf, human or otherwise, I leave that entirely up to your imagination.

Similarly, I’ve left the exact nature of the entity possessing Alcuin a mystery. If that’s something you’re particularly interested in, I’d be more than happy to discuss a few potential ideas to tailor something to both our fancy.

While open to any number of dynamics, I want to emphasise that I’m not interested in the cliched ‘evil villain corrupts innocent virgin into mindless slave’. It’s just not my thing. Conversely, I do envisage Alcuin and the spirit, particularly the latter, leaning towards the darker end of the spectrum. Alcuin and co aren’t killing babies for the fun of it (so gauche), but they won’t be shedding tears if someone has to be killed to achieve their aims. Is your character a similarly cold-hearted individual who might find it agreeable to be bent over by a demonically-possessed mage? Or would Alcuin have to seduce a more honourable, pure of heart soul, having to resist his disembodied companion’s carnal urges at every moment?

A measure of worldbuilding would be required here, though nothing dramatically in-depth. Unless it can be sold to me, I’m only looking for a short(ish) term roleplay. With that being said, if this *does* strike a chord with you, then by all means feel free to pitch your thoughts on how a long term roleplay like this would go!

As with all of my prompts, I’m looking for a partner who’s willing to put in an equal amount of effort. I can’t guarantee a reply per day, but I do aim for consistency. On a related note, I much prefer to use Discord for this sort of thing, with BST as my timezone.

What would I like from you, you ask? Well, a description and background of your character, plus your thoughts on how the roleplay could go sent via Chat - even a brief continuation of the prompt would be lovely, thought that's not necessary. Please put some effort into the former, as it helps me see the quality of your writing; I’d much prefer a well-written response hours after posting than just a quick line or two.

And that is all! If you’ve got to this stage, I’m hoping that something has piqued your interest. You’re very welcome to ask me any questions you might have in the meantime. I’m looking forward to hearing your responses! Take care now.

I am 18+ and all participants and characters must be 18+